Hell's Kitchen: A History
by tinyrose65
Summary: In between the alien attacks and life-and-death fights, life for the denizens of Hell's Kitchen moves on. Here's what that life looks like (fem!Harry, AU! One-shots from "Masked Men and Where to Find Them").
1. Josie's Bar

**Title:** Hell's Kitchen: A History

 **Author:** tinyrose65

 **Summary:** In between the alien attacks and life-and-death fights, life for the denizens of Hell's Kitchen moves on. Here's what that life looks like.

 **AN:** Set directly after _Masked Men_ chapter 4.

* * *

"A dragon?" Matt asked Harry, incredulous and unable to believe what he was hearing. In the bed next to him, Harry hummed her agreement, seemingly gleeful at the confusion no doubt showing on his face. "You broke into a bank and rode out _on a dragon?_ "

When Harry said she had to tell him some things, Matt hadn't been sure what to expect: he knew a bit about her life in the wzarding world, knew that she had a somewhat dark past, but not much else. The things she had said over dinner that night (of evil wizards and corrupt governments and epic battles) were unexpected, to say the least. Later, after she had fallen asleep and Matt had left to patrol, he took the time to consider what she had told him, and how it all fit together in his view of her.

Learning that she had been the professed savior of her world and had been made to fight in a war she had no interest in waging was surprising, yes, but it explained a lot about her morality, her energy, her slight anarchy. No wonder she worried so much about him: she had gone through similar things when she was younger (so _much_ younger— just a kid— at the age where he was getting ready to leave the orphanage and go to college, she was giving her life to save a group of people who actively hated her).

It had been strange returning from patrol to somebody waiting in bed for him, even though his mind was in a slightly better place and was more comfortable with what she had told him. He found her still asleep, curled up into a tiny ball and making small, snuffling noises. For all that she had done, for both wizards and for him, she still retained a semblance of innocence in her dreams.

He joined her that night, and slept better than he had in a long time.

It was impossible to say who woke up first. Matt had first came to and realized that Harry was also stirring. Neither had said anything, not wanting to get up, but it soon became clear that neither of them was going back to bed, despite the fact that there was still plenty of time before Matt had to be up for work. Before he could get up to get them each a cup of coffee, Harry was reaching over to his bedside table and picking up her wand— a quick wave of it, and Matt heard the coffee machine start.

That's when Matt knew that he loved magic, and it's how they found themselves in bed, coffee in hand, just talking about things, neither wanting to get up and face the day.

"Hermione still gets nightmares from being that high up," Harry confided, and Matt laughed. "She never did like Quidditch."

"That's the sport, right?" Matt clarified. "With broomsticks?"

Harry nodded. "I'll have to show you my Firebolt sometime— it's an older model, but I still think it's beautiful."

"I have a lot to learn about this world of yours, don't I?" Matt mused.

"I might be able to find some books for you," Harry offered. "On wizarding culture and the like— they make them for Muggleborns and their parents, to get them acquainted with things. There's bound to be some in Braille."

"That would be nice," Matt conceded, taking a sip of his coffee. They finished their drinks, engaged in one final make-out session (since when had he become a horny teenager? Matt wondered to himself), and then both were off to work.

* * *

Matt's good mood must've been evident on his face, because Foggy said something as soon as Matt entered the firm.

"You got laid," Foggy announced to all who were listening (so, Karen and Matt, basically). Matt sputtered and didn't dignify this with an answer, instead retreating into his office and placing his briefcase down on his desk. When he emerged a moment later, Foggy picked up where he had left off.

"Seriously, Murdock. You've got that _look_ on your face—"

"What look? This is just my face."

"And you're whistling! I didn't even know you knew _how_ to whistle—"

"Don't bring my whistling skills into this!"

"You do look pretty cheery, Matt," Karen (the traitor) offered from her position at her desk. She was sipping coffee from a mug and looked like she was perfectly ready to settle in and enjoy the show.

"I can't just be in a good mood?" Matt asked, trying to change the subject. He headed over to the coffee maker, pulling out the pot and sniffing the coffee that was already in it— for show. He had known from the moment he walked into the office that it was already stale. Foggy must've gotten in early to prepare for their meeting with a new client later (Matt would've felt bad, but considered he had a pretty decent excuse, what with _taking down muggers_ and all).

"No," Foggy denied, waving his hand (containing a half-eaten bagel) around to make his point. "You're Matt Murdock. You've constantly got a thundercloud over your head and have that ridiculous 'I'm-a-brooding-hero' thing going."

Matt couldn't help but feel insulted. "I don't _brood._ "

"Yes you do," both Karen and Foggy parroted. Matt could practically _feel_ the smugness radiating off of them.

"Fine," Matt admitted as he added coffee grounds and water to the machine before turning it on. "I 'got laid,' as you so eloquently put it. Happy?"

Foggy let out a satisfied hum and took a bite of his bagel. "Who was it? That girl from the precinct?"

"The blonde?" Karen asked, for clarification.

"That's the one," Foggy confirmed, snapping his fingers.

"Oh, she's cute," Karen beamed.

Matt rolled his eyes. "It wasn't her."

"The guy we met at the bar the other night?" Karen suggested. "You two hit it off."

Matt just shook his head and got out a mug, coffee done. He poured some out, feeling Foggy and Karen watching him closely.

"Is it somebody I even _know_?" Foggy demanded.

"Drop it, Foggy," Matt sighed, but there was no real malice in his voice. Back in college, whenever one of them had brought somebody back to their room, the other had always given them a hard time. This habit had continued well past college and was now an important part of their friendship. This was expected.

"I do know them!" Foggy chirped, sending crumbs of half-chewed bagel flying. "Otherwise you would've said so!"

Matt just leant against the counter and took a sip of his coffee, ignoring the burn on his tongue. He knew from experience that Foggy (and Karen, hopefully) would run out of steam soon enough.

"There hasn't been anybody else you've really talked to, though," Foggy continued, speaking more to himself at this point. "Except—" He could hear Foggy's eyes widen. "Hottie McBurner Phone!"

"Who?" Karen asked with a laugh.

Matt scowled, feeling slightly offended on Harry's behalf at the nickname. "You know her name is Harry, Fogs."

"So it _is_ her! I knew you had a thing for her!"

"Who's Harry?" Karen asked, clearly growing impatient.

"Just this _hot_ , _British, doctor_ Matt knows," Foggy teased.

Karen raised an eyebrow. "Where do you even _find_ these people, Matt?"

"In dumpsters," Matt deadpanned. Foggy almost choked on his bagel at that. Karen, on the other hand, no doubt thinking Matt was just making a joke, laughed. Taking the lag in conversation as an opportunity to change the subject, Matt said, "Changing the subject: we have an appointment in an hour. Are were prepped for that?"

And with that, seriousness descended as they prepared for their next client (a mother of two who was being wrongfully evicted by her landlord— certainly not a large or high-profile case, but unlike most of their clients, she could actually afford to pay them). It wasn't until after the woman had left that Foggy brought Harry up again.

"I want to meet her," Foggy announced as Karen packed up the paperwork from their consultation. They were still in the conference room, a sign of Foggy's unwavering persistence. It made him a great lawyer, but, at the moment, Matt was really regretting it.

"Who? Our client?" Matt played dumb.

"Nooo," Foggy said, rolling out the word as though he thought Matt was being deliberately obtuse (which, to be fair, he was). "Harry."

"You've met Harry," Matt pointed out.

"Yeah, like, once, and that so doesn't count because of the—" he hesitated slightly when he remembered that Karen was in the room with them. "Extenuating circumstances. Plus, Karen hasn't met her yet!"

"That's true," Karen confirmed.

Matt huffed and walked out of the conference room to the main office, hoping to avoid the conversation entirely, but Karen and Foggy weren't giving up and followed him. Foggy whined, "C'mon, Matt!"

"I don't even know if you'd classify what we're doing as dating," Matt argued. He'd like to _think_ that he and Harry were dating— or were going to start, at any rate, but these days, it was impossible to tell that sort of thing. For all he knew, Harry jumped into bed with men all the time, although she didn't seem like the type (not there was anything wrong with that).

"You've known her for months," Foggy said. "Girlfriend or not, I want to meet her. Officially. Bring her to Josie's tomorrow."

Foggy's voice had taken on a familiar tone with Matt: the one that said Foggy would win this argument or bring them both down trying. Matt had heard it often enough in court. Reaching up to pinch the bridge of his nose, Matt muttered, "Fine. I'll see if she's free."

His frustration evaporated as Foggy let out a cheer and Karen rushed over to hug him.

His friends were something, but he wouldn't change them for anything.

* * *

Harry put an end to his wondering about the status of their relationship when she called that afternoon to see if he was free for dinner that night. For a _date._ After he confirmed that he was, she told him to meet her at her place at around eight, and that she'd be cooking. With that she hung up, and Matt was left with a dopey grin on his face, grateful that he was in his office where Foggy and Karen couldn't see and make fun of him for it. He'd said Harry was braver than he was. Well, now he had his proof.

Matt stopped by his apartment on the way to Harry's to drop off his briefcase and pick up his Daredevil suit. This way, he figured, he could go on patrol right after dinner (and he happened to stay the night at Harry's after, well, whose business was that but theirs?).

He arrived a few minutes early, but Harry didn't seem bothered. She answered the door as soon as he knocked and greeted him with a quick kiss before ushering him inside. The smell of food— which Matt had detected down the block— now overwhelmed his senses, and he felt his mouth water in response. He had known Harry was a good cook from the leftovers and quick meals she had occasionally fed him, but this was something else entirely. There was some sort of meat roasting in a slow cooker, and Matt could detect a plate of freshly sautéed vegetables on the counter, the smell of garlic and olive oil wafting from them. A bowl of partially mashed potatoes was near the sink.

"Sit, sit," Harry ordered, directing him to her small, kitchen table. He could hear the ruffle of a table cloth as he did as she asked, and could tell by the slight heat emanating from it that there was a candle there, too. She'd gone on all out, and it made his heart feel funny inside his chest.

"Wine?" Harry offered.

Matt thought about it it, but then shook his head. "I'm patrolling later."

"Of course," Harry agreed. She considered for a moment. "Ever had pumpkin juice?"

"No, but I'll try it."

"It's a wizarding thing," Harry explained as she went to pull the juice out of her fridge. "Well, a _British_ wizarding thing. I have to get my stuff imported from Diagon Alley. Apparently wizards around these parts prefer blueberry juice."

The face she pulled made it quite obvious what she thought of _that._

After she had poured him a glass, Matt took a tentative sip. It was sweet, which he supposed he should've expected, but not from added sugar or artificial preservatives. This was all pumpkin, and Matt had to admit that he quite liked it. He told her as much and she smiled.

"Good." She gave his shoulder a gentle squeeze. "Dinner will be ready in just a minute."

"You know," he said, as she disappeared into her kitchen (there was no need to raise his voice, since the apartment was small enough for her to hear fine),"You didn't have to go through all this trouble."

"I know," she retorted, laughing. "That's why I did it!"

"I can help!"

"Matt, I've had your cooking," she said, referring to the poor man's breakfast he had made her the morning after the Russians had tried to kidnap her. "For everybody's sake, I'd rather you just sat there and looked pretty."

"I can cook," Matt grumbled, not commenting on the 'pretty' comment, although it made him smile just a bit to himself.

Harry heard him. "Heating up frozen food doesn't count."

Matt just grinned wider at the good-natured ribbing and took another sip of his juice. For the next ten or so minutes, conversation flowed easily between them, Harry occasionally popping back out of the kitchen to check on him. She eventually emerged one final time from the kitchen, carrying the roast, vegetables and potatoes floating behind her (which, okay, was a bit _weird,_ but there were some things he was still getting used to when it came to magic).

The food was spectacular, as he had imagined it would be, and conversation ceased for a while as they ate— well, to be honest, Matt more or less stuffed his face. He was fairly certain his tongue had an orgasm. It was all just _so good_ , although Harry insisted that it wasn't as good as Mrs. Weasley's food or the food at Hogwarts (Matt wondered if the school had an obesity problem, because if he had food like this available to him all the time, he'd be eating non-stop). When they finished, Harry cleared everything away with a wave of her wand (he heard the dishes start to wash themselves in the sink) and offered coffee. Thinking of the long night ahead of him, he eagerly agreed.

It was ready a few minutes later, and, as they sat drinking at at the table, Matt asked, "Where did you learn to cook?"

"My aunt and uncle made me cook growing up," Harry explained. Her voice took on that same clipped, efficient tone it always took when she spoke about them, which is why Matt hesitated in asking his next question.

"You don't get along very well with them, do you?" She had mentioned her relatives a few times here and there to him, but never in full detail. Even when she had told him about her life in the wizarding world, she had only told him that they had taken her in after her parents had died.

"They were never very supportive of my magic," Harry said finally, "Or of magic in general. Aunt Petunia was jealous of my mum because of it, and she turned it into some weird 'normalcy is superior' crap, which turns out my uncle complete agreed with. When I moved in with them, they decided they would do the best they could to 'stamp the magic out of me'— their words."

Matt felt the stirrings of the devil in his veins. "What does that mean? 'Stamp it' out of you?"

"Generally just make me as miserable as possible," Harry shrugged. "I did all the chores around the house: the cleaning, the cooking"— here, she gestured towards the food in the kitchen— "No toys growing up, no presents on my birthday or the holidays. All my clothes were hand-me-downs from Dudley, never mind that they didn't fit, and I only ate the leftovers once everybody else was done, if I was lucky, since Dudley usually ate most of what I cooked."

At this point, Matt had set his mug down for fear that he would break it with his grip. He took a few deep breaths, focusing on his heartbeat, and Harry's, to ground him and distract him from the blood rushing to his head. Harry's hand was on his now, and she was rambling (if Matt weren't so upset, he would've called it 'adorable.').

"It's fine— really. Once I got to Hogwarts, things got a bit better and I only had to spend the summers at home— I spent holidays at school. Plus, the Dursleys got worried that I'd tell on them or hex them or something, even though they always took my magic stuff away over the summer, so the threats and comments were toned down somewhat. And my room got moved from the cupboard under the stairs to Dudley's spare room, even if they put bars on the window and the catflap,— and why am I telling you this? It's only making things worse, isn't it?"

"That's— That's—" _Horrific,_ he wanted to say. _Child abuse._

"I know," Harry agreed, understanding what he meant. "I _know_. But it was years ago and I'm, well, not _over_ it, to be honest. I don't know if I'll ever be _over_ it, but I've moved on, at any rate."

She gave his hand a gentle squeeze. "Dudley's nice to me now, you know. We aren't close or anything, but we email each other checking in from time to time, and send each other holiday cards. He realized what a right prick he was growing up and has been trying to do better."

"That's— good," Matt said. "Why did they even take you in, though? If they hated you that much?"

Harry removed her hand from his and sat back in her chair, sipping her coffee as she mused it over. "Two reasons, I think. The first is the money they got from the state. They always were greedy."

"And the second?"

"My mum sacrificed her life for me." Harry's voice had gone soft, as it usually did when she talked about her parents. His voice often did the same when he brought up his father. "That invoked an ancient type of magic— a sort of protection— based on my blood. By staying with my mum's sister, that protection remained until I was eighteen. It protected me, but also them. The Dursleys might've feared magic, but they feared Voldemort more. They weren't _completely_ stupid, I suppose."

Matt grunted, reluctantly conceding to her point. With a groan, Harry placed her arms on the table and rested her head on them.

"I've ruined this date, haven't I? Things are weird now."

"I brought up your relatives," Matt pointed out. It was his turn to take her hand and give a reassuring squeeze. "And I'm glad you told me. I wanted to know more about you— even if it's bad stuff."

Harry lifted her head up. "I'm smiling at you now."

Matt smiled back. "I know."

"Does this mean I get to ask _you_ a question about your personal life?"

"Ask away."

"Not yet," Harry decided, after a minute. "I want to think on it. Rain check?"

"Sure," Matt agreed. He got up and stretched. "I should probably get out and patrol, anyways. It's getting late."

Harry sent their coffee cups back to the kitchen and began to put away the tablecloth and candles. In the meantime, Matt went to the bedroom to change into his suit. As he did, he called out, "I remembered that I'm supposed to ask you something."

Harry's footsteps echoed through the apartment as she came to join him in the bedroom. "Is it for help getting your pants on?"

Matt, who was struggling to get the skin-tight material over his legs, scowled at her. "No. Foggy asked me if you wanted to come with us— him, Karen, and I— to Josie's tomorrow night."

Harry let out a delighted gasp. "Am I getting the shovel talk?"

"You might," Matt laughed. He grabbed the top part of his costume and slipped it on. Harry came over and helped him straighten it, so he lowered his arms and let her. "I just know Foggy and Karen really want to meet you."

"Foggy has already met me," Harry pointed out.

"He said that doesn't count."

"He was stunned into silence for most of it," Harry admitted. "Has he asked you anything at all about my magic?"

"He asked a few questions, but once I told him more information meant an increased risk of memory-erasure, he shut up pretty quickly."

"Sounds like Foggy possesses some common sense." Harry, satisfied that his suit was adjusted properly, finally took a step back. At least with her to help, he'd never have to worry about running around looking idiotic (or more idiotic, if Foggy's hang-ups about how his outfit looked were any indication).

"What does that say about me?" Matt demanded. He picked up his mask from where he had left it on the bed with the rest of his clothes (all folded neatly), but didn't put it on just yet.

"You are many things Matt, but possessing common sense isn't one of them." Had it been anybody else who said that, Matt might've been offended, but this was Harry, and she said it with such affection coloring her tone that to take it as anything _other_ than a compliment was impossible.

"So you'll come?"

"Wouldn't miss it," Harry confirmed. "I've never gotten a shovel talk before."

"Great," Matt said with a grin, finally slipping his mask on.

"Are you coming back here after patrol?"

"I have to get my clothes—"

"I meant to spend the night," Harry said, with a roll of her eyes.

Matt hesitated. "I don't want to presume."

"You're not presuming," Harry assured. "Stay. Spend the night." Her voice turned playful: "That way I can thank you properly for keeping our city safe."

And with an incentive like that waiting for him back at Harry's apartment, who could blame him if he patrolled a bit more hastily than usual?

* * *

The next night, Matt found himself at Josie's with Karen and Foggy after work, waiting for Harry to arrive. Foggy and Karen were laughing about something, but Matt was admittedly a bit preoccupied about whether his friends and his girlfriend (Could he call her his girlfriend after one date? Were they official? Was 'officialness' even still a thing? What about tonight: did that count as a date?) would get along. He cast his senses out, listening for Harry's heartbeat amongst the crowd outside, feeling a bit antsy. He was just about to call her when he heard it, moving up the sidewalk.

Still, when she entered the bar (bringing the distinct smells of herbs and soap and disinfectant with her), he made no move to acknowledge her, cognizant of Karen, who still didn't know his secret, at his side. Thankfully, Foggy recognized Harry from their first meeting.

"Oh, there's Harry. Hey! Harry!" he called out, waving a hand to get her attention. Matt heard Harry let out a slightly relieved sigh (was she nervous, too?) as she scuttled over to them, shrugging off her coat in the process.

"Sorry I'm late," she apologized, draping her jacket over the chair next to Matt and taking a seat. He ducked his head to offer her a quick kiss, and felt some of the tension ease from his shoulders. "There was this annoying patient who wouldn't let me leave, just kept asking questions about the lightbulb I had to remove from his— and I just realized this is probably not appropriate talk for dinner."

"Drinks, not dinner," Foggy corrected, "So talk away!"

Harry laughed at his enthusiasm. "Better not. Doctor-patient confidentiality and all." At this point, she reached out a hand to Karen, who was sitting across from her at the table. "Hi, by the way. I'm Harry. I don't think we've met."

"No, we haven't," Karen confirmed, and Matt felt her pointed glare in his direction, which he studiously ignored. "I'm Karen. Nice to meet you."

"Likewise."

"So!" Foggy interrupted, clapping his hands and rubbing them together. "What would you like to drink, Harry? Matt's buying."

"I am?" Matt asked, bemused.

"You are. You owe us for keeping Harry from us for so long."

"We haven't been dating that long, Foggy." Harry's heartbeat jumped slightly at the word 'date,' but judging from the slight flush on her face and the upturn of her lips, this was more from happiness than anything else, a fact which greatly eased Matt's worries. She adjusted her chair so that she was a bit closer to him. He draped his arm around her slim shoulders, feeling her soft curls tickle his skin.

"Whatever." Foggy waved away his point.

"Eloquent argument, counselor."

"You're still buying. So, Harry, what would you like?"

Harry shrugged from her position, leaning against him now. "I'm not picky. Whatever is good here."

Matt didn't have to see to know that Foggy's eyes had lit up at this opportunity. "Perfect. I know just what to get. Be right back!"

As Foggy scampered off, and Harry turned to Karen to ask about her day, Matt took the time to take in the details about Harry that he had missed earlier, distracted as he was: she had taken the time to change out of her scrubs, by judging the overly powerful smell of 'hospital' that still clung to her, this was done in the locker room, not at home. Despite the lack of sleep from the night before (they had gotten a bit caught up in things), she didn't seem too tired, her breathing and heartbeat steady and even. She had reached up to grab the hand that rested on his shoulder, clutching it gently, and Matt could feel the oddly shaped scar on her palm, which she had explained away as a result of some enchantments on the cup she had stolen from Gringotts all those years prior.

Foggy returned with a round of drinks just as Karen finished telling Harry about her daily fight with the copier. Harry laughed, the sound low and sweet to Matt's ears.

"So, Harry," Foggy began, as he started handing out the glasses (Matt recognized the smell in Harry's glass as Josie's signature drink). "What are your intentions towards my friend?"

Matt's response to this was to let his head fall onto the table with a loud THUNK, hiding his flaming face. Harry wasn't bothered, though. In fact, she was delighted.

"Is this the part where you threaten to hurt me if I hurt him? Because I've been looking forward to this talk all night."

"Well, since I'm fairly certain you could wipe the floor with me, small or not—" Harry made a slightly indignant sound— "I won't threaten to hurt you, just litigate the heck out of you."

"That's almost worse."

"Don't distract me!" Foggy accused, pointing a finger at her. Matt had lifted his head back up at this point and taken a swig of his drink, which did _not_ contain eel, thankfully. "Your intentions: state them"

"Aside from my intentions to do dirty things to him in bed?"

Matt's head thunked back onto the table and Karen let out a small cheer and gave Harry a high-five.

"Naturally." Foggy confirmed.

"I guess I just plan on keeping him from driving himself too crazy," Harry contemplated. "If I can get him to crack a smile every now and again, all the better."

"I've been trying to do that since I met him in college."

"Why does everybody assume I don't smile," whined Matt, his face still on the table. He felt Harry reach over and pat his back with the hand that wasn't still clutching his.

"You're not smiling now," Karen pointed out.

"Of course I'm not smiling now. My friends are actively trying to sabotage my relationship."

"We're not sabotaging anything," Foggy retorted. "Harry doesn't mind. Do you, Harry?"

"Not at all," Harry confirmed. Her hand moved from patting his back to clutching his shoulder, pulling him up so he was sitting again. He adjusted his glasses and gave a small smile to show he wasn't being serious (and to prove them wrong). Foggy and Karen had both gone quiet as Harry took a sip of her drink. Even Matt had to admit to focusing in on her to see her reaction. She noticed the extra attention almost immediately.

"What?" she demanded.

"Just wondering how you like your drink," Matt assured.

"Tastes fine," Harry shrugged. "There's something in it that I can't place, though— sort of bitter—?"

"That would be the secret ingredient," Karen informed her gleefully. Matt had a feeling she was enjoying this too much after Foggy had played the same joke on her when she had first joined their firm.

"What's that, then?"

"Eel."

Matt waited with baited breath for Harry's reaction, belatedly realizing that maybe he should've warned her about it. She wouldn't dump him over this, would she? She had a great sense of humor, after all. Instead of throwing the drink in his face or anything quite so dramatic, Harry just let out a soft "huh."

Then she _took another sip._

The look on his face must've been as priceless as Foggy's. Foggy demanded, "That's it? 'Huh?' C'mob! You gotta give us better than that!"

"I went to visit one of my old professors— now Headmistress— in Scotland once," Harry said, in what appeared to be a sudden change of topic. "In some sort of sick, twisted revenge on all the trouble I caused in school, she made me haggis for dinner."

Matt blinked. "Haggis? The thing made from—"

"Sheep's pluck," Harry confirmed. At Karen's confused expression, she elaborated with, "Heart, liver, and lungs."

"Ew," Karen muttered in response.

"After that," Harry continued, "Eel is nothing."

"I'll drink to that," Foggy proclaimed. He held up his glass. "To haggis!"

"To haggis!"

And they drank, and Matt had to admit that it had been a long time since he could remember himself quite this happy.

* * *

 **AN:** **I have no idea if US wizards like blueberry juice. I just made that up.**

 **Also, yes, I know this chapter took forever and I apologize. But it's long, so yay? Still, you can expect a bit of a wait between the premier of season 2 of Daredevil and me posting my version of it. Aside from the fact that I have to watch, outline, and write it (and I'm pretty sure Elektra is gonna blow a hole in my continuity), I wanna get the Jessica Jones cameo written first. That will be posted here. Season 2 will be upended to Masked Men and Where to Find Them. We all cool with that?**

 **Also, if there's anything you wanna see, just let me know, and I'll see what I can do :)**


	2. AKA Jessica Jones

**Title:** Hell's Kitchen: A History

 **Author:** tinyrose65

 **Summary:** In between the alien attacks and life-and-death fights, life for the denizens of Hell's Kitchen moves on. Here's what that life looks like (Fem!Harry. AU! Sequel to "Masked Men and Where to Find Them."

 **Notes:** Spoilers for _Jessica Jones,_ season 1. Set between _Masked Men_ chapters 4 and 5.

* * *

 **Chapter 2: AKA Jessica Jones**

Shadowing Muggle hospitals was a relatively new development in magical medicine. After the events of Harry's fifth year, where Arthur Weasley's injuries from Voldemort were unable to be treated by traditional means, wizarding hospitals in Britain had taken to adopting certain Muggle practices in their own hospitals. The effectiveness of this approach soon lent itself to spread across the majority of Europe. It took time, but soon healers in the United States were clamoring for the Magical Congress of the United States to repeal some of their stricter magical segregation laws and allow healing wards to send wizards into Muggle medical care facilities. MACUSA eventually relented, which is how Harry found herself currently shadowing a Muggle doctor at Metro-General hospital to study the latest lifesaving techniques (with the help of a few memory-modifcation charms and forged paperwork).

The doctor was currently asking questions from a mother and her son, here because the body had fallen and hit his head. He seemed fine enough— lucid, no dilation in his pupils, no bleeding in his head, just a bump, according to the physical— but the mother was insisting on an MRI, despite how much the doctor didn't think it was necessary.

Harry hung back, thoroughly bored. Although she appreciated some of the skills she had learned during her shadowing rounds, there were times like today where it was exceptionally boring.

Until it wasn't.

The doors to the ER burst open, and Harry (along with most of the ER staff) whirled around to see a large, black man strapped to a gurney and being wheeled in. Harry and the doctor quickly rushed over to find out what had happened: a head injury, unresponsive, no bruising or signs of trauma. He needed a CT scan and mannitol to bring the swelling down. Harry watched closely: head injuries were tricky to treat, even for wizards.

A nurse went to inject the mannitol when a soft "Oh, shit" caught Harry's attention. She glanced at a woman who had seemingly appeared out of nowhere. Not in scrubs and not injured, Harry guessed she was a friend of the patient, snuck out of the reception area. That didn't explain her reaction, though.

Harry turned back just in time to see the nurse's needle bend as it touched skin and understood.

Oh, shit, indeed, Harry mused, as the nurse tried again. He was still unsuccessful and the doctor was growing impatient.

"What are you doing?"

"It's not me!" the nurse argued. "It's him! Or these needles—"

"Can I get somebody who knows what they are doing, please?"

"Let me," Harry offered, stepping forward. Her phlebotomy skills could always use the practice, and she wanted to know why this man seemed un-injectable. She snapped on a pair of gloves and took the needle from the nurse. Nobody questioned who she was or what she was doing there— they just automatically believed her authority, thanks to the charms he had in place.

Harry was no more successful than the nurse was, the needle refusing to puncture skin. Off to the side, the woman was growing more and more nervous ("You're wasting time!"), and Harry couldn't blame her. They had to bring the swelling down somehow otherwise—

Rapid beeping from one of the machines.

"His blood pressure's climbing."

That.

"Get the drill," the doctor ordered, and Harry's eyebrows rose. That was definitely something they didn't have in wizarding hospitals. The nurse handed her a very scary looking drill, and the woman almost lost it.

"No!" she protested. "Do something non-invasive."

"Somebody remove her," the doctor commanded, as she went in, the drill whirring. She pressed the metal tip to the forehead, but instead of the sight of tearing skin and blood and bone, there was smoke, followed by sparks. The doctor jumped back.

"So he's, uh, one of those," the doctor muttered, placing the drill down. A quick glance told Harry that the woman who had brought him in was now close to tears, but didn't seem surprised— so she knew about him. Meanwhile, the doctor was talking to another nurse. She said, "Get me the chief of staff and the head of surgery. I need a consult."

She walked off, but Harry didn't move, instead moving in closer to the unconscious man, pressing her fingers gently to the skin. It felt normal enough… There was some sort of residue underneath his chin, near his neck. It smelt smokey and chemical-like

 _Gunshot reside? But from where?_

The woman was suddenly yanking the curtains near the bed closed, startling Harry and making her look up.

"What are you doing?" Harry asked.

Her question was ignored. "Please help him."

"Cranial injuries aren't really my area," Harry demurred. "I don't think I can— I don't know if any doctor can help him."

"Then I need to get him out of here." The woman rushed over to the side and grabbed a wheelchair, pulling it closer to them, She kept glancing up, over out beyond the curtains, and Harry followed her gaze to see two, battered looking police officers.

"If the police are here for him, I need to report this," Harry said, but it was reluctant.

"The police are wrong," the woman announced. She had started in on her friend, removing the monitoring devices from his skin with little to no gentleness. "He got used by an evil prick."

"The evil prick the one who put the shotgun to his head?"

If the woman was surprised at Harry recognizing the gunshot wound for what it was, she didn't show it. "No, that was me, and I didn't have a choice."

"One helluva date," Harry muttered, watching as the woman. She warned, "Moving him might kill him."

"And keeping him here will expose him."

The woman then proceeded to lift the man up as though he was nothing and place him on the wheelchair. And that's when Harry realized that the unconscious man was not the only superhuman she'd be dealing with today. Something of her amazement must've shown on her face, because the woman said, "Look, I know we scare you, and that you've never seen anything like us, but this is a good man."

"And you?"

"I'm an asshole. But help me, or get out of my way."

Harry had to give credit for honesty. She stepped aside, letting the woman through. "You don't scare me. And you're not my first."

She followed the woman and her friend down the hall, sticking close. To anybody else, they looked like a patient and doctor walking down to a procedure somewhere. Harry stopped only briefly to grab a handful of medical supplies from a cart in the hall— she didn't have her emergency kit on her (she was sincerely starting to regret ever leaving it behind, if this was her life now), so, unless there was time to stop by her apartment (unlikely), she'd have to make things work the Muggle way.

"There's a bridge on the fifth floor that leads to a parking structure," Harry offered when they reached the elevator. "We can take that down to the street and get a cab."

"We'll be noticed. We're not exactly inconspicuous."

"I can take care of that," Harry assured, pulling out her wand and casting a quick Notice-Me-Not charm. At the woman's look, Harry snorted. "What? You two thought you were the only gifted folks in New York?"

"No," the woman muttered, something dark coloring her tone. "Not by a long shot."

* * *

Jessica (as Harry had finally learned her name) abandoned Harry and Luke to go take care of something, leaving Harry to maneuver Luke into a cab all by himself. As Harry had planned, the taxi driver paid no mind Luke. It wasn't that he didn't see them. Notice-Me-Not charms didn't work that way. He just didn't really care. Jessica had given an address to Harry, who in turn passed it to the cab driver. Harry recognized the area somewhat. It wasn't far from Matt's office.

Once in Jessica's office, Harry managed to get Luke on the bed. Then, she waited. Her first instinct was to head back to her apartment and get supplies, but Luke was in too unstable condition to leave alone. Better to wait for Jessica to arrive. While she waited, she busied herself with checking his vitals and examining the small stash of medical supplies she had looted from the cart. Thankfully, it was all stuff she knew how to use. She also took the time to place several cooling charms on the pillow under his head in hopes that it would bring the swelling down, and tried using a few anti-swelling charms to help. The charms weren't all that powerful: she had a potion that would work, but she didn't have any at home, and it would take time to brew.

Harry was just contemplating the possibilities of getting the potion undetected from her work, when Luke started seizing and all hell broke loose.

"No, no, no, no," Harry muttered, grabbing her few supplies. She paused only long enough to slip on some gloves again (secondary infections were no joke), before climbing on top of Luke and straddling him to try and keep him still. It did little good. It was like being on top of a technical bull.

It seemed they had some luck with them that day, however, because Jessica chose that moment to arrive home.

"What are you doing?"

"Hold his head still," Harry demanded, a plan already forming. She prepped a needle as Jessica did as she asked.

"He has unbreakable skin!" Jessica pointed out when she saw what Harry was doing.

"That's why we're not going through his skin," Harry told her. And then proceeded to stick the needle into Luke's eye. Jessica made a bit of a face and looked away, but Harry was hyper focused, the way she only ever got when she was working on the wire to save a patient. The way she used to get in life or death situations during the war. Buried deep within her, in a part of herself where she never looked, was the knowledge that this was her favorite feeling in the world.

Jessica's grip tightened asHarry muttered, "Keep him steady, keep him steady."

Harry pulled back on the needle, fluid coming out with it, and Harry let out a sigh of relief as Luke slowly stopped seizing. She pulled the needle fully out of his eye and wiped the area down with the edge of Jessica's blanket.

"I can't believe that worked," Harry announced, clambering off of Luke and capping the needle, placing it on the bedside table. This was apparently not the right thing to say.

"You mean you didn't know if it would?" Jessica demanded. Harry was not impressed.

"It was either try and pull the fluid through the optic nerve, or let him die."

"…right. Thank you." Jessica sighed, taking a moment to lean against the wall. "Is he going to be alright?"

Harry glanced at the large needle on the bedside table and shrugged. "We won't know until he wakes up."

Jessica sighed again and headed over to the room next to them (the makeshift office of sorts). "I want a drink. You want a drink? I'm having a drink."

"It's five in the morning," Harry felt compelled to say. This didn't seem to mean much to Jessica, who simply grabbed a bottle of whiskey from her kitchen and a mug.

"Did you find Luke's phone?" she asked.

Harry, sensing that she wasn't going to get anything else out of Jessica about her drinking habits, nodded, and picked up the aforementioned phone, walking over and placing it on Jessica's desk.

"It was the only thing on him, but he hasn't gotten any calls." Harry watched Jessica take a swig of whiskey from the mug, then glanced back at Luke. "Keep the pillow under his head— it'll keep his head cool for another few hours. Once the charm wears off, use icepacks or frozen peas or whatever you have. It's important to keep the swelling down."

Jessica didn't flinch at the mention of charms (in fact, she hadn't brought up the magic at all beyond her surprise in the elevator). That's when Harry noticed a large slice on the other woman's leg.

 _What the hell was she doing in that hospital?_ Harry wondered. Out loud, she announced, "I better take a look at that."

It took Jessica a second to realize that Harry was talking about the cut on her leg. "Can't. I have to go. I just need to know where."

"You're gonna go?" Harry demanded, hands on her hips. "With a large, unconscious man in your bed?"

"He won't be the last," Jessica snarked. At Harry's unimpressed look, Jessica added, "Person hurt by Kilgrave."

"The aforementioned 'evil prick?'"

"Phone's dead," was all Jessica said, which Harry took as a confirmation. Jessica began sorting through her desk, looking for an extra charger, while Harry grabbed what pitiful amount of what was left of her supplies.

"Right. But if your leg gets infected, you won't be going anywhere. Take off your pants."

Jessica paused what she was doing and shot Harry a look. "I usually like a bit more romancing."

"Don't we all," Harry countered sweetly. She stood up. "Do you have a first aid kit?"

"Bathroom, bottom cabinet." Jessica revealed. Harry went to the bathroom to get it. When she returned to the office, she was rewarded with the sight of Jessica having relented, her pants pulled down, and settled into a chair. Harry pulled a chair up next to her.

"Did Kilgrave do this to you?" Harry asked, as she sorted through Jessica's kit: clearly it had been used with regular frequency, but there were enough supplies for Harry to clean and dress the wound, although it wouldn't be her best work without magic.

"No," Jessica snorted. "He doesn't do his own dirty work. He controls minds."

"You're joking." Harry placed the necessary items on the desk for easy access.

"It's fine if unbreakable skin and 'charms' is where you want to draw the line."

Harry smiled just a bit at the dig. "I guess it's just harder to believe that somebody would call himself 'Kilgrave.' What is it with villains and weird nicknames? Why not 'Snuffcarcass?'"

Satisfied with her prep work, Harry slid her wand out of her holster and vanished the blood on Jessica's leg away. It wouldn't disinfect the wound, but it would save a lot of scrubbing.

"So what about you?" Jessica asked. "And your magic, wooden stick? Born with your powers, or some sort of accident?"

"Magic is one word for it," Harry agreed as she wiped the wound down. "And born with, but I didn't really know about them until later."

"How much can you do?"

"A lot. But I specialize in healing work. I'd be able to make this cut on your leg vanish if I had my supplies. I could've fixed Luke, too, but that's markedly more complex." Harry looked closely at Jessica's wound and announced, "I think we can get away without stitches. It's deep, but clean."

"I've had my mind controlled a few times," Harry admitted, after a few moments of silence, "by somebody with powers similar to mine. He was much… darker, though."

"I'm sorry that happened to you," Jessica said. There was something in her tone that made her look up. There was an expression Jessica's face that Harry recognized: she _knew_ what it felt like to have your will taken away from you. Harry's throat closed up a bit, so when she spoke, her voice was croaky.

"Yeah, well, the spell used can be broken, if you're strong willed enough, or trained enough. Can Kilgrave's powers be broken?"

"Not in the way you're thinking of."

"Then how do you plan to stop him?" Harry asked as she prepared the bandage for Jessica's wound, getting it to the proper size.

"I have to find him first," Jessica scowled. "Kilgrave had control of Luke. Had him calling with updates on me. If I can trace the number that Luke was calling from, it might get me closer to where Kilgrave is holed up."

"What makes you the one who has to face him?"

"Crap-ass luck."

"Been there," Harry laughed. "I, uh, have a _friend_ like— well, not like me. But like you and Luke."

"Bleeding and unconscious?"

Harry laughed again, softer this time. "More often than not, yeah. He makes life hard for bad guys."

"How's he so sure he's the good guy?" Jessica winced as Harry pinched the cut shut and began applying the butterfly strips.

"Oh, he's not," Harry assured. "He questions every move he makes, every thought he has. Just like I'm assuming you do. I could call him, if you'd like. He might be able to help."

Jessica was shaking her head before Harry's offer was even through. "We can't risk more people getting controlled by Kilgrave. It's the only thing I don't question"

Harry hummed. "I guess me helping is out of the question, too."

"No shit," Jessica said, eyeing Harry's wand warily. "I have to kill Kilgrave on my own."

Harry didn't say anything to that— what could she say? Matt had drawn the line between himself and the people he fought by making a vow not to kill him. Jessica clearly had no such scruples. Thinking back to Luke on the bed, Harry couldn't help but think that she was right.

* * *

The sun was rising by the time Harry was ready to leave. Her apartment (and her bed) was waiting for her. Unfortunately, Jessica stopped her. She had managed to track Kilgrave using Luke's cell and was going to go after him.

But she needed somebody to stay with Luke.

"I have a date," Harry mourned, thinking of the reservations Matt had made for dinner that night. If she didn't get some rest, she'd likely plomp down, asleep, before the appetizer even showed up.

"I'm sorry," Jessica pleaded. "I know you don't really know me—"

"No, I do know you," Harry denied. _You're me. And Matt. And anybody who's ever had the responsibility to do something hard._ "I've seen you with your pants off."

Jessica had left after that, leaving Harry to call and cancel her date later that day with Matt. He was understanding, but also a bit worried about whatever she had gotten herself into.

"Are you sure you're okay?" he asked, for what must've been the third time. Harry hummed her agreement as she checked Luke's pulse again: it was still going steady, but there was no sign of him regaining consciousness anytime soon.

"I'm fine," she said out loud. "I promise I'll explain everything to you the next time I see you."

"I'll hold you to that." Matt's voice was warm on the other end of the line. "I suppose it works out better this way. Foggy and I have a new client. A new _paying_ client."

"Oh?" Harry asked, curious. Anything to take her mind off of Jessica and the sort of risks she was running.

"A woman bludgeoned her girlfriend's wife with a vase, claims it was self-defense."

"Was it?"

"She wasn't lying when we interviewed her," Matt confirmed. "But get this: she also claims that the wife was being mind controlled by some guy named—"

"Kilgrave," Harry finished.

There was silence on the other end of the line. "How did you know that?"

"Because I'm staring at another one of his victims," Harry said grimly. She could practically hear the wheels in Matt's head turning. "Don't even think about it."

"Think about what?"

"Going after Kilgrave," Harry said, walking back towards the office and slumping down into the chair. "What kind of moron goes after a man who can control people _with his voice_ when he has _super hearing_?"

"…when you put it like that, it does seem like a stupid idea."

"Somebody else is taking care of it," Harry added, hoping that this would make Matt feel better. "Somebody much better qualified."

"An Avenger?" He sounded skeptical.

"Not quite," Harry admitted. "But promise me you won't do anything rash."

"I promise," Matt grumbled.

After they had hung up, Harry took the time to text Foggy:

 _Matt might do something stupid tonight. Do not let him out of your sight._

A minute later, she had the following response:

 _Got it. Will sit on him, if I have to. Thanks for the heads-up._

* * *

Luke eventually woke up (after an interesting visit from some guy named Malcom). Harry went out to get him a drink of water, but when she returned to the bedroom, he was gone and the window was open.

"Of course," Harry sighed. She placed the water on the bedside table and grabbed her stuff. She'd been following the news reports of the altercation down by the pier, multiple people injured, at least one dead. She had no doubt in her mind that Jessica was somehow involved, and that she had done what she had set out to do. There was no point in Harry staying here anymore—

She left, but not before scribbling her number down on a piece of paper on the desk for Jessica to find.

Hopefully Jessica would use it.

* * *

 **AN:** So I thought that Daredevil season 2 would make me write slower, but turns out it's been awesome motivation (because it's amazing so far- seriously). I hope you enjoy this chapter, even though it pretty much follows the episode down to a T. Either way, I had a lot of fun writing Jessica and hope to include more of her in the future!

Season 2 will be coming up next, posted under "Masked Men and Where to Find Them," so stay tuned!


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